


Only in Dreams

by TheWritingGuineapig (Aridette)



Series: Short Haytham/Connor Stories [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Exhaustion, Fingerfucking, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aridette/pseuds/TheWritingGuineapig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Washington's betrayal, the breach of the truce he's had had with his father, Kanen'tó:kon's death, the battle of Monmouth, West Point and Benedict Arnold, Achilles' weakening health; Connor felt thoroughly tired.<br/>He wasn't even sure if tired was the right word to express this feeling, but he didn't know a better one.</p><p>“Numb.”, Maria said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only in Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This little thingy wasn't planned, it just happened. I don't even know.
> 
> Usually I love happy endings more than anything else, but this one hasn't got one. Sorry D=
> 
> Also **if the description of dreams or dream-like states freaks you out, you should not read this!**

Washington's betrayal, the breach of the truce he's had had with his father, Kanen'tó:kon's death, the battle of Monmouth, West Point and Benedict Arnold, Achilles' weakening health; Connor felt thoroughly tired.  
He wasn't even sure if tired was the right word to express this feeling, but he didn't know a better one.

“Numb.”, Maria said.

Slightly startled by the sudden interruption of his train of thoughts, Connor stared sheepishly at the young girl standing right in front of him. He couldn't remember falling asleep sitting on the manor's stairs, but he must have. How else could he have missed her approach?  
“What did you say is numb?”, Connor asked apologetically.

Maria shuffled her feet. “Mama's right hand, from working too much. Doctor White needs this medicine for her. He thinks it can only be bought in New York. You must get it for her.” She gave him a slip of paper. Something was written on it in Doctor White's hasty hand – most likely the name of the drug. Connor squinted his eyes trying to decipher the word.  
_He liked his father's writing, it was beautiful; svelte and easy to read._  
He closed his eyes and shook his head. Where did that thought came from?  
“I thought you are literate, Mr Connor, because you're so smart.”, Maria said, slightly unsure.

Connor gave her a little smile. “I am literate. But it takes me some time to read Doctor White's writing. It is rather … unique.” Maria pressed her hands to her mouth and giggled. “Do not worry, I will find this medicine for your mother's hand.”

When the girl had run back home with a satisfied smile (only after he had promised twice that he surely, definitely, by all means, would get that medicine), Connor sighed and got up to prepare for the journey.

 

* * *

 

After almost two weeks and what felt like hundreds of check points, he finally arrived in New York. The Aquila would have been the faster choice, and certainly the more comfortable one, but he wanted to be alone. It made him feel bad, he should be getting the medicine back to Ellen as fast as possible. Also, Mr Faulkner and his crew were his friends; still, he couldn't stand company at the moment. He dismissed the thought of visiting his recruits for the very same reason.

The strong odour and the noise he usually disliked so much about larger colonists' settlements presented a welcome distraction this time.  
_He liked the way his father smelled, of wool and soap and something else; unusually nice for a colonist._  
Connor tensed his jaw.  
If only what he had told Achilles had been the truth, that he didn't like the man. It would make some things easier at least. He didn't regret the decision he made back at Valley Forge, yet he did dread meeting his father before he could end Lee. It was a misplaced sentiment, Connor knew, nevertheless his heart became heavy as lead upon thinking about a possible confrontation with his father.

Getting the drug was easier than he'd thought: Connor only had to ask in three stores before he got lucky. And even then, he didn't have to wait for a new shipment to arrive. The rays of the late afternoon sun warmed him as he cautiously put the flask into one of his pouches. When he went back to the inn he had rented a room in, he felt almost content, musing that he could ride back for the homestead by tomorrow morning. Connor swiftly climbed up a building and continued his way over the city's rooftops to avoid the patrolling guards.  
He should send the medicine ahead by ship before he rode back, he decided; he'd delayed Ellen's recovery enough already by riding here instead of taking the Aquila.  
The sounds of a commotion made Connor stop in his tracks and search for the source of the noise. Looking down into a courtyard, he spotted four captive civilians and a person fighting half a dozen soldiers with muskets. He hurried down, freed the civilians who fled terrified, shot one of the soldiers in his head and buried his tomahawk in the chest of the next. Only when the man fighting beside him slit the throat of the last remaining soldier, Connor realised that this individual was his father. He stared at him, petrified. Haytham stared back for a second, but was fast to recover.  
“Connor.”, he greeted neutrally, tilting his head. Connor continued staring. “Here to kill me?”

“ _Father._ ”, Connor spat out, not entirely sure if it was anger or panic that made his voice crack.

Haytham gestured at the bloodied bodies at their feet. “I propose we run, before more redcoats come our way.”

 

Minutes later both men were catching their breath, standing on the roof of a church in a quieter part of town.  
“I am not here to kill you.”, Connor said as his breath evened out. Haytham turned around slightly to meet his gaze, before turning his back on his son once again.

“I see. But the question is: Do you wish to?”, Haytham asked casually.

Connor shifted his weight from one foot to the other in silence.

“Your village … ”, Haytham began hesitantly after a while.

“Washington's order was not carried out.”, Connor interrupted him, his voice bitter, anger welling up inside. “ _You_ are not to thank for that, father.”

“Connor, I-”

“Stop.”, Connor demanded. Then he shook his head, resignation washing over him.  
“What were you doing down there?”, he asked a touch calmer.  
  
Haytham snorted. “Well, what did it look like, boy?” He turned to face his son, his hands swinging stiffly at his sides. “I was protecting innocents. I'm sorry if this doesn't fit with your ideas of evil Templar schemes, but in the end all our doings come down to this, making sure everyone is safe.”

Connor pursed his lips and tilted his head back, his arms folded. “ _Safe_? Safe like my mother? Safe like my village?”, he asked coldly.

A hurt look crossed Haytham's face which he quickly replaced with indifference.  
Silence.  
“If you're not up to fight me, Connor, I'll leave now.”, he said matter-of-factly. “This”, he vaguely gestured from himself to Connor and back, “doesn't work. It's pointless.” Was it Connor's imagination, or did his father sound tired?  
Then, without another word, Haytham vanished into the dark of the falling night.

Connor didn't know how long exactly he lingered on the church's roof after his father had left, his hand frozen in a slightly outstretched position, reaching out for an arm that wasn't there anymore, his fingers feeling as icy as his insides. But in the end, he curled his hands into fists and went back to the inn.

Connor wished he didn't care about this cold, bitter Templar.

 

* * *

 

 He felt warm and safe, like he hadn't in a long time. His father was all over him, exploring bare skin with fingers and lips, slowly, teasingly. Connor moaned lowly and arched into the attention given. It was too much and then again not enough at the same time. He couldn't remember being this aroused before, or feeling this loved, in the moment his father whispered into his ear how very special and precious Connor was and how much he had cared for his mother.  
He closed his eyes for a second – or was it minutes? – and felt like floating, like sinking, like diving in Caribbean waters.  
Haytham began stroking his son's cock and Connor opened his eyes. It was hard to really focus on his face, so he concentrated on the silver reflexes dancing on his father's hair instead. Was it night or day? Haytham continued murmuring praises into his ear.  
The touches were too gentle, not enough to grant him release.  
“Father.”, he said lamely, his tongue was heavy and forming words was nearly impossible. What did he want to say, again? “I need … more.”  
Haytham hummed softly and Connor gasped silently as first one oil-wet finger, followed by a second, entered him. Where his father got the lubrication from or when he had applied it, he didn't know, but then again, it didn't matter. Connor rolled his hips as Haytham's rough, long digits fucked him slowly, deeply, and he felt like being underwater once more.  
“Do you do this sometimes while thinking about me?” Haytham's voice seemed to come from far away, so very far away, but he was right there, wasn't he?  
Connor tried to concentrate, speaking was difficult. “Yes, father, I do.”  
Haytham leaned closer, kissing his neck, his jaw, his cheeks. He stopped only inches away from Connor's lips. Why wouldn't he kiss him on the mouth?  
“What a good boy you are.”

Connor woke up.  
He took a few seconds to understand where he was. Then, recalling the indecent dream, his heart clenched painfully and his cock throbbed, already leaking pre-cum. Connor gripped his pulsing shaft angrily and tucked, once, twice, three times, which was enough to send him over the edge.  
With a strangled sigh he looked at his soiled hand and sheets, feeling tired.  
Feeling numb.


End file.
